Fall Your Way
by Third Stage
Summary: Dean Winchester has been looking for a reason to leave. Sam Remington wants to stop running from his past and find himself a home. Dean is wary of drifters, but there's something about this one that stands apart. Slash, but not Wincest. Sam x Dean
1. Wreck of the Day

**Disclaimer: **_Supernatural, its concepts and characters belong to the wonderful genius that is Eric Kripke. _

**Warnings: **_Swearing and slash, mentions of subjects which could offend more sensitive readers (to be seen in later chapters)_

**Authors Opening Note: **

_This story is way, way, way, way off from my normal subject matter. And I am hopelessly enamored with the idea of it. I hope you enjoy it as much as I've enjoyed playing around with the idea._

_This story is slash, but not Wincest. I hope those of you with open minds will still read and enjoy this piece. So I'll say it again, it does contain a Male x Male relationship (Sam and Dean) but in this story, they are not blood related. _

_And so, onwards with another journey! Enjoy and Review!_

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**Chapter One: **_Wreck of the Day_

_And in your sad machines_

_You'll forever stay_

_Desperate and displeased_

_with whoever you are_

_And you're a star_

- Here is no why by the Smashing Pumpkins

With rock music blaring from his baby's speakers and the warm wind roaring through the open windows, Dean could literally feel the knot of tension loosen in his chest. It didn't matter that he would be returning to the same small town with the same people he had known for most of his life. And it didn't matter that he'd feel like he was trapped within the confines of his own small world when he returned.

All that mattered was the deep thrumming of the truck's engine and the constant rumble of the wheels on the worn tarmac.

Dean wasn't one for big cities. Something about them made him feel claustrophobic. He wasn't one for small towns either for he felt judged by everyone around him. Everyone around him was leading their own version of the apple pie life, with a partner and/or kids and a place to call their own. Dean didn't have that, and he wasn't sure if he ever would. He wasn't even sure if that was what he wanted to begin with.

He reached over and turned the volume up as Metallica's 'Turn the Page' reached its guitar solo. Dean rolled his neck and shifted in the leather seat of his pick up truck. Sure, it wasn't the classiest car around, but it was big and it was black and it had a monster engine that came to life with a guttural roar whenever the accelerator was hit.

The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the land, and Dean took a moment to look out the window at the distant hills. Yes, it was a good time of year. Hunting season was coming up soon, and he'd had to make a trip into the next town to pick up extra supplies for the gun shop he co-owned with an old friend. Business had been good lately, so he'd picked up some extra special enhancements for his own gun collection.

Dean made the next turn smoothly, with one hand on the wheel and before he could blink another car was rushing at him. Swearing, he jerked the wheel violently, but it was too late.

With a sickening jolt and the scream of metal on metal, they collided. He was thrown forward with an unpleasant jerk.

Dean's truck was pushed to the other side of the road, while the other spun wildly out of control and ended up in the ditch opposite from him.

Dazed, Dean just sat still for a moment, trying to wrap his head around what had just happened. It took him a few moments to realize that he was unhurt, save for the painful beating of his heart.

He shoved his mangled door open and practically fell from the truck, gaining his feet before he fell onto the tarmac.

He jogged across the tarmac toward the other car, which was considerably more damaged than his was. The driver was slumped over the wheel, and Dean leant down to look in the window.

"Hey. You all right?"

The young man seemed to be stirring and he sat up. Dean noted the blood running down the side of his face.

"Can you hear me?" Dean asked as he opened the door.

"Mmm...think so..."came the rough reply.

"C'mon. Lets get you out of there. Can you tell me your name?"

" 's Sam."

"Hey there, Sam. I'm Dean."

Dean helped the young man out of the car and sat him down leaning against the side of the old car before he crouched down in front of him and pulled out his cell. He swore silently to himself when he realized that he had no reception.

The young man, Sam, seemed more alert now and he looked at Dean silently for a moment.

"Didn't see you round the corner," he mumbled.

Dean frowned slightly.

"I didn't see you either. That corners been a problem for years but the fucking local council won't do jack shit about it," he replied as he turned to look at his truck.

He grimaced when he saw the crumpled front and the twisted scrapes down the drivers side.

"Shit."

"Sorry bout your truck, man. I'll pay for the repairs." The man offered.

Dean looked back at him, and realized that he was younger than he'd first thought. Barely twenty, with too long brown hair and steady gray eyes. He was tall too, with broad shoulders and the longest freaking legs that ever were.

"Don't worry bout that now. I'll drive you to the hospital and get your head checked out." Dean replied roughly.

Sam shook his head, that grimaced in pain.

"No, it's okay. Just gotta rest for a bit."

Dean frowned once more before settling down beside him, feeling tired himself after the sudden rush of adrenaline. He could still hear the strains of Metalica from his truck, and he closed his eyes for a moment.

"Haven't seen you around before," he commented after a moment of strained silence.

"Just passing through," was the quiet reply. "Although this might set me back a bit."

"It might at that." Dean replied humorlessly before he got up. "Afraid we'll have to leave your car behind. Doesn't look like it'll be going anywhere soon."

"That's okay. Picked it up cheap."

Dean looked down at Sam quizzically for a moment. It seemed strange to him that he didn't seem too bothered by the accident and the subsequent loss of his car. Hell, Dean was pissed as hell about his truck, although he knew the damage wasn't too serious. It'd set him back some though that was for sure.

"I got a friend I can call in town who owns a repair shop. Might take awhile for him to get all the way out here though."

Sam drew his legs up beneath him and slowly got to his feet, using the car to support most of his weight.

"I'd appreciate it."

"Let's get you to the medical center then," Dean said stepping forward.

Sam nodded then turned slowly. "Just let me get my stuff..."

"I'll take care of that. Stay here a moment."

Dean jogged across to the truck and climbed up into the cab. He turned the key and prayed for some sort of response. Thankfully, it started smoothly on the first try, and he grinned and patted the wheel.

"That's my baby. Let's see about getting this sorry chump into town shall we? Then I swear we'll get you all fixed up" he murmured as he pulled the truck around in a smooth U turn.

Leaving the truck idling momentarily, he jumped down and returned to where Sam was leaning against his car, looking like he could barely keep to his feet.

"C'mon. Let's get this over with."

Dean pulled the young man's arm over his shoulders. He felt him wince when he put his weight on his left leg and Dean cursed under his breath. As if he didn't have enough to deal with.

"You got any other injuries I should know about?" he asked, more sharply than he'd intended.

Sam shook his head and they moved slowly around the truck towards the passenger side.

"No. It's just an old injury. It gets aggravated every now and then."

Dean watched critically as Sam pulled himself slowly up into the passenger's side. Blood was coating the left side of his face, and he reached into the back seat of the cab and grabbed a worn rag.

"Here. It's clean."

"Thanks."

Sam accepted it and pressed the wadded up material to the wound on his forehead.

"What d'you need from your car?" he questioned gruffly.

"Just the bag from the back seat." Sam replied quietly as he closed his eyes and leant his head back against the headrest.

Dean nodded and retrieved the bag with minimal fuss, although he had to force the back door open with a kick and a curse.

He grabbed the keys from the ignition and returned to the truck, hefting the large (and heavy) pack into the back seat and sliding into the drivers seat.

Moments later and they were speeding down the road towards his hometown once more. Dean exhaled as he felt a headache building behind his eyes.

What a crappy ending to a good day. He needed a strong drink and a bed so he could just put this particular disaster behind him.

After roughly ten minutes of silence, Dean glanced over at Sam who was quiet in the passenger seat.

He was folded effortlessly into the cramped space, and Dean took another moment to marvel at just how tall he seemed. In reality he was only a couple of inches taller than himself, but he somehow gave off the impression of being much taller. It could have been due his broad shoulders, or the muscled expanse of his chest. Or those thickly muscled arms and the slim waist and hips. And those legs...

Dean swallowed and returned his eyes to the road.

It had been way too long since he'd gotten any. While his tastes ran mainly towards the fairer sex, he had been known to swing towards his own gender from time to time as well. And this boy sitting in his car, this oddly attractive boy who was all sleek muscles and soulful eyes was looking more attractive to him by the moment.

It had definitely been way too long. And how twisted did it make him, sitting here after almost totaling his truck and eyeing up an injured person. He needed to start thinking with his upstairs brain and fast, before his downstairs brain revolted and gained complete control.

"So Sam," he cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. "You got a last name, or what?"

Sam glanced at him for a moment before he pulled the cloth away from his head and studied the bloodied rag for a moment.

"Remington. Sam Remington."

"No kidding," Dean felt a smile tug at his lips and he reached over and turned down the volume of the radio.

"What?"

"As in, the company that makes the guns?"

"Yeah, I guess," came the confused reply. "Why?"

Dean paused a moment, before looking back over at him with a full out smile this time.

"Last name's Winchester. Like the gun."

Sam blinked at him in shock for a moment before a smile crept it's way onto his face. Dean looked away quickly.

"That is funny."

One thing was for sure. Sam Remington had a nice smile and Dean cursed at himself silently and wished that the trip was through already. No way was he going to speed though.

He let the awkward silence stretch for a moment longer.

"You're kinda young to be roaming the country by yourself aren't you?"

He watched out of the corner of his eye as the smile slowly dropped off the boys face, and he turned to look out the window.

"I'm nineteen."

"That's still pretty young."

He had picked up the hint of a Texan accent early on so there was no point in asking where he was from. Dean was unusually uncomfortable with the situation, and he was unsure why.

Apart from the fact that he had a particularly attractive nineteen year old Texan sitting in his car. But he wasn't thinking about that.

It wasn't the first time he'd picked up hitchhikers before. Where he was from, they had a lot of traveler's and drifter's passing through, which was part of the reason their small town was so prosperous. It was a rural community mainly, but the town had some nice cafe's and a couple of motels that made it a good stop over. Dean's gun and hardware shop was in the heart of the town, so he saw a wide variety of people pass through. He was no strangers to young runaways, and people who were running from a dark past.

He had every reason to suspect that Sam was one of those people. The type who was trying to escape whatever it was that was haunting his past.

Dean had his fair share of demon's to contend with too. Both in the literal and the metaphoric sense.

He was brought out of his thoughts by Sam shifting in the seat next to him as he cleared his throat.

"So...uh, listen. I got some money. Enough to pay you for the repairs for your truck. After we go to the clinic I can get it out for you."

"This wasn't entirely your fault you know," Dean frowned.

"I...I think it was though. I'd been driving too long without a break and wasn't paying attention," was the uncomfortable reply. "So I'll pay for the repairs. It's not a problem."

"What about your car? It won't be cheap to repair."

"I'll probably stick around town for awhile. Maybe find some work to pay for it."

Dean licked his lips and changed gear as he crossed the small wooden bridge that told him he was almost in town.

"Not sure what kind of work you'd find in these parts. What skills have you got?"

Sam shrugged.

"It's not a problem. I've been traveling for a couple of years now. Picked up my fair share of work here and there."

"Hmmm." Dean didn't press further, instead focusing on the road before him and wondering what it would be like to have Sam around for awhile.

He seemed like a quiet sort of person, who kept to himself. A dreamer, some would call him. There was a distance in his eyes that Dean could relate to. It was the distance of a person who had been hurt before, and withdrew into themselves in order to protect from further injury. Yes, Dean knew that tactic well enough, and he also knew that it didn't work. It was a temporary fix, but eventually the walls would crumble and then where would you be?

Alone. Vulnerable. And Sam was certainly alone. A wanderer who couldn't seem to set roots down wherever he went. Oh yes, he knew that sort well enough.

His father was one of them, but that was about the only thing his father and Sam had in common. His father was a hunter with a one track mind. He hunted everything from deer to bear and spirits to werewolves. And he never stayed in one place for more than a few weeks. Dean had put up with it for the first fourteen years of his life before he had put his foot down.

And so his father had left him with Bobby, an old trusted friend who had agreed to raise Dean in his stead with little fuss.

It was on Bobby's ranch that Dean lived now, and he was more of a foster father than a guardian. Dean only heard from his father once in awhile, and saw him even less. He'd stop by once every few months, and they got along well enough. And yes, Dean could admit that he loved the man, but the way things had been left had turned him bitter and angry. It was the knowledge that his father had left him with that set him apart from the other people who lived in this town. Dean was naturally a loner, and while he made friends easily and he had many, he needed a lot of time and space to himself in order to adjust himself to living in the realm of "normal".

Dean had lost more than he cared to admit, and he suspected that this nineteen year old wanderer with nothing and no one was very much the same as him while still being so very different at the same time.

There was no use in getting involved with the teens life, because he'd be gone within a few weeks. Dean would do what he could to aid him, and nothing more.

They turned onto the main street of town, and Sam sat up straighter to look around. There were the usual stores; a chemist, a news agency, a good sized shopping complex and several takeaway shops. When you turned down the streets that led off the main road, you came upon the cafés, the few souvenir shops, the gardening shops and the like. Dean's store stood on the corner of one of these but he drove right past it and on to the Medical center.

"Here we are. C'mon I'll help you in."

Dean said once he'd parked. Sam unbuckled his belt and had opened the door by the time Dean gotten around the car. He watched silently as Sam slid out of the car and gingerly put his weight on his sore leg. After testing it for a moment, he limped out of the way of the door and Dean closed it firmly.

"The doc's here are good. They'll take care of you." Dean told him as he helped Sam up the stairs and into the waiting room. "I'll wait in the truck."

"Sure. And thanks."

Dean nodded, and watched as Sam limped up the nurses desk and began to speak one of the two nurses on duty.

He turned then, and went back out into the late afternoon sun. He rubbed his eyes and pulled out his cell.

Half an hour later, Dean looked up from his place on the truck's hood to watch as Sam limped out of the center and down the stairs towards him.

"How'd it go?" Dean asked neutrally.

"Clean bill of health. Mild concussion, few stitches but nothing serious."

Sam tilted his head as he looked at Dean for a moment. A faint blush appeared on his high cheekbones, and Dean could feel a smile beginning. Sam seemed like a sweet kind of guy and Dean couldn't help but feel charmed by him.

He slid casually off the hood and landed on his feet, aware that Sam was still watching him and secretly basking in the attention.

"I need to get that money out. Then I'll get out of your hair."

Dean nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

Dean drove down the street to the bank and waited while Sam disappeared inside. It wasn't long before he was back and handing a thick wad of bills to Dean through the driver's side window.

"I think that'll be enough."

"Thanks." Dean said flatly, honestly not caring about the money. "Is there anywhere I can drop you off?"

Sam looked down the street for a moment and Dean allowed himself to appraise the young man before him once more, noting the way the afternoon sun picked up the auburn in his hair. Or the way his skin seemed a gorgeous golden brown...

"Nah, I think I'll be right. Thanks. For everything."

"Don't mention it," Dean told him as Sam retrieved his pack from the back of the truck.

"Maybe I'll see you around sometime," Sam offered shyly.

Dean couldn't help but smile at him, touched yet again by the sweet nature of the newest stranger in town.

"Maybe you will," he replied easily, before winking at him and putting the car in gear.

As he pulled away from the curb, he looked in his side mirror to see him standing on the sidewalk with his pack at his feet and watching him drive away.

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A/N: Remington from what I've researched and understood, actually is a company that manufactures guns, although I can't remember whether or not they make handguns or rifles. And Winchester is also, as we all know, a brand of gun. Any other questions I'd be happy to answer. Don't forget to review, my readers, and introduce yourselves to me!!!

Stay tuned, there's more to come!


	2. Something About You

**Disclaimer: **The concepts and character of Supernatural belong to their rightful owner.

**Warnings: **Slash (male x male) but not incest. Swearing, subjects which could offend some readers…

**Author's Note: **I am so sorry for the delay in posting this. My motivation for writing supernatural fan fiction has wavered since the end of season 2, although I'm sure that it will return in full force once season 3 starts! But I will keep posting chapters for this story as I write them. Hope you enjoy this installment, and I look forward to knowing what you think so far!

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**Chapter Two: **Something About You

Later that night, Dean was tired, and looking forward to a long hot shower and inviting bed. He'd unloaded his truck and dropped it off at Mal's to be repaired before he had returned to help with the last few customers of the day. That had been followed by a rowdy few hours at one of the local bars playing pool and drinking with a few of his friends.

Bobby, being his usual self had agreed to drive out and pick him up (after a certain amount of grumbling of course) so he had awhile to wait.

Dean was wandering down the street and had come upon the small park where the playground was when he spotted movement. Because he had nothing better to do while he waited, he headed over to check it out and was surprised to see Sam sitting on one of the swings and looking off towards the road out of town. His pack was leaning against one of the swings poles, and Dean hesitated a moment before speaking up.

"Woulda thought you'd be in a nice warm bed somewhere."

Sam jumped and almost fell of the swing, grabbing for the chains in an effort to save himself. Dean laughed and clapped a hand on his shoulder before taking a seat on the other swing.

"Shit. You scared me."

"I gathered. So? What're you doing out here at this time of night?" Dean smiled easily.

Sam shrugged.

"Haven't gotten around to finding a place yet." He looked up at the star studded sky. "Nice night though."

Dean knew a diversionary tactic when he saw one. He was the expert after all.

"It is," he agreed, not bothering to look. "Wanna tell me why you're really out here?"

Sam shrugged again, uncomfortably this time but didn't reply.

Dean sighed and gave himself a slight push with his legs.

"You don't have any money do you?"

"Thought I had more than I did." Sam admitted reluctantly.

"And you gave most of it to me. I told you I didn't need it." Dean pointed out.

"Well...I don't like being in debt to others."

Dean began to scuff at the dirt with his boot as he watched Sam out of the corner of his eye. He hadn't changed his clothes from earlier, and he could make out spots of blood on his shirt from his head wound.

"I imagine you don't, living as you do."

Sam glanced at him before looking away.

"It doesn't matter. I'll get some work tomorrow and find a place."

"And what about tonight?" Dean asked. There was no way he'd be letting Sam stay outside for the night. Not with a head injury. And it was getting chilly anyway.

Sam shrugged again.

"Won't be the first time I've slept outdoors before."

"Hmmm."

They sat in companionable silence for a little while, Sam still looking up at the sky and Dean scuffing at the dirt with his boots and swinging slightly. The instant camaraderie between then bothered him for some reason. It wasn't as if they knew the first thing about each other, but they had somehow slipped into a comfortable state of companionship. It wasn't something Dean was used to; he didn't trust people easily.

"This is a nice place." Sam said eventually. "I like it."

Dean looked over at him with raised brows before he wrinkled his nose and thought about it.

"Yeah, I suppose it is. It's got it's fair share of dirt bags though. But it's nice enough." Dean replied after a pause.

"Doesn't everywhere though?"

"Guess you're right. What brings you out this way to begin with? It's not exactly on the map. And there's no big touristy places around." Dean asked curiously.

"I'm not interested in doing the whole tourist thing," Sam answered instantly. "I don't know, really. Seemed as good a direction as any."

"So you've not got any idea where you're headed?"

Sam shook his head, causing his too-long hair to fall into his eyes. He really did have beautiful eyes, Dean thought to himself. Expressive was the word. While he managed to disguise most of his body language easily enough, his eyes gave him away instantly.

"Never really did."

Dean nodded, and stood up when he spotted lights on the road in front of them.

"Grab your shit. We're going." he told him, as he stood before Sam.

Those gray eyes stared up at him with an unreadable expression for a long moment.

"I'm not a charity case." he murmured. "I'll be alright out here."

"Maybe so. But if you think I'm leaving you out here with a head injury you can think again. Even if I have to hog tie you, you're coming with."

Dean waited patiently for Sam to make up his mind. He could see him turning it over in his mind, and he tried to quell his impatience as best he could. While he was content to wait all night to get his way, he wasn't so sure if Bobby would.

After a few moments of silent contemplation, Sam stood up and reached for his pack.

Dean nodded, satisfied and headed towards where Bobby was parked on the side of the road. It didn't escape his attention that Sam was still limping badly as he followed. He wondered, not for the first time, what kind of injury would cause such a limp.

Yet again, he put it aside. It wasn't any of his business. Nor would it ever be.

He leaned into the passenger window of Bobby's beat up pickup truck. It wasn't dissimilar to his own, except his was in much better condition.

Bobby looked over his shoulder before meeting Dean's eyes.

"Pickin' up strays now, Dean?"

Dean glanced over his shoulder at Sam before looking back at his former guardian and shrugging as he opened the door.

"I take it that's the kid you hit earlier."

Dean scowled. "I didn't hit him. We hit each other. That's why it's called an accident Bobby."

"With the way you drive?" Bobby snorted. "Unlikely.

Dean glared.

"It's just for a few nights. Until he finds his feet around here. He can stay out the back with the guys if you want."

Bobby waved a hand dismissively. "We'll sort it out later. Just get in here before I leave your sorry asses behind."

Dean turned to Sam, who had joined them silently.

"Dump your pack in the tray."

Sam nodded and did so before sliding onto the bench seat next and slamming the door. Dean was sandwiched between Bobby and Sam, and seeing as none of them were particularly small men, it was a tight squeeze.

"Sam, this is Bobby, my old guardian. Bobby, Sam." Dean introduced gruffly.

He was all too aware of the way Sam pressed against him, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder, and it made him want to squirm. He didn't though, because Bobby would surely pick up on it and give him hell for it later. Sam though, Sam was a different story. He did shift slightly, his hand moving uncertainly from his head to rest on his thigh, dangerously close to touching Dean's.

Dean was big on personal space (unless it involved sex of some kind) and if this wasn't the biggest invasion since the Spanish inquisition then he'd be struck down by Satan himself.

And he wasn't exactly opposed to it either, which left him feeling mildly irritated.

After Bobby and Sam had exchanged pleasantries, Bobby pulled back onto the road and started back towards the ranch.

"And I'm not your guardian anymore, Dean, so stop introducing me as one." Bobby grumbled.

"Quit your complainin', old man." Dean scowled. "How else do you want me to do it?"

"I don't care. I'm not you goddamn parent though, so cut it out."

"Whatever."

There was no heat to their arguing, and there hardly ever was. Bobby was a good man and he had always treated Dean fairly. Though he could have done without the constant banter that he always seemed to start.

Dean had noted the slight shiver from Sam so he had reached over and turned the heating on. Bobby had glanced at him before turning his eyes back to the road. Sam was now dozing lightly beside him, his head leaning against the window. His hand had slipped from his thigh and was now touching Dean's. He shifted uncomfortably and saw with relief that they had turned into the road that would take them to the house.

Bobby's house was nothing spectacular, but it was home. It was a two story house of reasonable size, with a porch running around the entire ground floor. The house and the land it occupied had been in Bobby's family for three generations. Bobby had been married once, and his wife had decorated it tastefully. Dean had been diligent in the upkeep of the place. If he had left it up to Bobby it would have become run down years ago. There was a sunroom out the back that over looked the rolling pastures of Bobby's cattle ranch.

It had a nice sized kitchen, two bathrooms and lots of space for Bobby's ever growing collection of books. The ranch hands lived out in a refurbished shed out the back, complete with fully equipped toilets and kitchen and comfortable beds. One thing was for sure, Bobby looked after his own and he looked after them well.

This was proven by the fact that Dean had his own little lodging. It was located on the furthest side of the car shed. The shed itself stood between the house and Dean's rooms, and it housed all three of Bobby's old cars (projects he called them, seeing as he was putting new engines in and all.) to the ride on lawn mower and a haphazard collection of tools.

Dean's rooms were off limits to everyone. It had two rooms; one being his bedroom, complete with a small fireplace and a reasonably sized television and stereo, and a small bar fridge, complete with sink and microwave. The other room was the toilet and bathroom.

Dean always took his meals with Bobby, and he usually hung out there at night to keep him company (but he'd rather cut out his own tongue than tell him that).

Dean had little to do with the actual ranch itself. He knew all they guys who worked there (seven in total) and they were all firm friends. He helped with the upkeep of the house and the machinery, but he had nothing to do with the animals. He paid his rent now that he was earning his own money, and if asked, he lent a hand now and then. But Bobby respected his desire to lead his own life and career, and Dean's passion was his guns.

Once he had finished his mandatory schooling, he had somehow managed to score a job at the local Gunsmith and Hardware, helping out Old Tom, who ran the place. He'd soon been joined by Jack, and they'd become fast friends. Now, they owned and ran the place.

Dean spent the majority of his days working there, and he wouldn't have it any other way. Followed by a couple of hours at the bar with some nice eye candy (and some nice ass if he was in the mood) and he was a contented man.

Bobby parked the truck and Dean nudged Sam into wakefulness once more as Bobby climbed out.

"Wakey wakey sunshine. We're home."

Sam straightened in his seat before he grimaced, and opened the door. Dean waited until he was pulling his bag from the tray before he intervened. Sam's limp was even more pronounced now, and Dean didn't doubt that he had a killer headache.

"Exactly how bad is your leg hurting," he asked as Bobby's disappeared inside the house.

Dean took Sam's pack from him and silenced any protested with a sharp look. Sam shrugged, a movement that Dean figured must have been unconscious as he did it so often.

"Just need to get my weight off it for a bit," Sam replied, avoiding his eyes.

Dean sighed and turned.

"Well come on then. I'm not sure where Bobby plans to put you for the night, but you need to ice that knee of yours."

He walked up the three steps to the porch and hefted the surprisingly heavy pack higher. Sam must have been living out of the pack for years, so Dean shouldn't really have been surprised at all.

He heard Sam following him and he held the door open patiently for him until they were both in the warmth of the house. Dean dumped the pack down by the door and led the way into the kitchen before he gently pushed Sam in the direction of a kitchen chair.

He didn't miss his almost inaudible sigh off relief as he sunk down.

Bobby was making a fresh pot of coffee and Dean began to rummage around in the freezer for something he could use as an icepack.

"Now, this here is my ranch, kiddo," Bobby said to Sam. "The people here go by my rules. If they don't like it then they know where the door is."

Dean rolled his eyes, knowing that the older man couldn't see. He'd heard this speech often enough, and it usually ran along the same lines.

"But if you take care of yourself and do your bit around the place then you're more than welcome to stay for as long as you need. I'll have no stupid shit from you though. No fighting, no drugs, no trouble. You pull your weigh around here, then you and me won't have any problems."

Dean waited for Sam's answer, pretending to be busy in the freezer. Many people who had heard this speech had instantly been put off by the man's straight forward approach, and he was curious to see how Sam would react. Dean himself was all for straightforward. He preferred to face things head on, much like Bobby, but he wasn't so sure about Sam.

"Sounds fine to me, sir. I'll only be around until I find a place of my own, and I won't be a bother." Sam answered steadily.

Dean felt something within him relax and he turned around, two packs of peas in his hands.

"Lets take a look at that knee then, shall we?"

Sam seemed to freeze.

Dean waited, aware that Bobby had turned back to making the coffee but was still listening intently.

The moment seemed to stretch on indefinitely and Dean was about to say something when Sam nodded. He reached down and began to ease his jeans up carefully. Dean ignored the twinge low in his belly at the sight of bared flesh and dealt himself a mental kick for even taking notice.

"It's not pretty," Sam warned quietly.

Dean knelt down by him and shrugged.

"Whoever said I was interested in pretty?"

Except he was. He was interested in the whole lot of pretty that was Sam's face...

He almost winced in sympathy when he saw the knee.

It was a mess of deep scarring, with a deep dent of missing flesh on the outside of the leg where the muscle turned into the knee-cap. Several long, groves about half and inch wide scoured the knee haphazardly. Dean studied the mutilated knee for a long moment.

"Told you it wasn't pretty," Sam murmured.

Dean pressed the pea packets to either side of the knee and secured them in place with the two hand towels that Bobby handed him.

Sam still hadn't relaxed, and Dean decided that the best way to approach this was to ignore it completely. It was obvious that it was a sensitive subject for him, and he had already decided that he wasn't going to pry into they young man's life and he was going to stick to that decision.

The knee was slightly swollen, but the scars looked old.

But damn, he wanted to know how a person came across that kind of injury. It looked to be the result of violence of some kind, and Dean figured that that was what he was running from. Dean didn't need any violence in his life- he'd had his fair share already- so he was determined not to ask.

"Leave that on there for half an hour and you'll be right." Dean stood and accepted the hot cup of coffee from Bobby.

The older man handed one to Sam also and Sam smiled that slightly shy, grateful smile that touched Dean in places he didn't know existed.

"Thanks."

"Not a problem, lad. There's a pull out bed in the sun room, and a heater there in case you get chilled."

"Thanks for having me."

Bobby nodded and left, clapping Dean on the shoulder as he did so.

Dean looked down at Sam for a long moment. Now that he looked closer, he noticed the dark circles under his eyes and the tremor in his hands.

"Did the doc give you anything for that headache of yours?" he asked after a moment.

Sam looked up at him, wide-eyed with surprise.

"How'd you..."

A small twist of a smile touched Dean's mouth as he set his empty coffee cup down.

"I've had my fair share of concussions. Not pleasant are they?"

Sam shook his head, then winced slightly, and Dean smothered his laugh.

"Yeah. She gave me some pain pills and said I need to take it easy for a few days."

"Well, I suggest you take her advice then. She's not often wrong, that lady. I'll go get the bed set up for you."

Dean disappeared before Sam could make any sort of reply.

He was aware that he was being abrupt with him, but he really couldn't help it. Just by spending the small amount of time with Sam that he had, he could tell that he was the type of person who could easily get past just about anyone's defenses with those gentle eyes and honest approach to everything, and Dean was determined not to get himself involved.

Sam was...Sam would be irresistible to many in this town, and while that put him on edge, he was all too aware that he could take care of himself. After all, he'd admitted himself that he'd been alone for several years. Nothing like a few years of fending for yourself to realize the truths of the world, Dean thought, humorlessly.

Hell, he'd certainly learned them well enough. And he was wise enough to recognize trouble when he saw it. Sam spelled trouble, he knew. So he'd keep his distance and keep to himself thank you very much.

He'd just grabbed pillows and blankets from the closet and was setting them on the bed when a noise behind him told him that he was no longer alone. He straightened up and turned to find Sam silhouetted against the golden glow coming from the house. The sunroom was attached to the house, but was made of glass. The couch where Sam was sleeping was convertible. The whole place was just like another sitting room really, and Sam would be comfortable enough.

"Thanks for this Dean. Not many people would take in a stranger and I just wanted to let you know that I...appreciate it." Sam told him as he set down his pack. "And I'm sorry about your truck too."

Dean shrugged, then cursed himself for picking up one of Sam's habits in such a short time span.

"As I said, it's no big deal. You just...take care of that knee. I'll see you in the morning." Dean said as he high tailed it out of there as fast as politely possible.

No way was he opening that can of worms. He was tired and it was too complicated for him to deal with at such a late hour.

Yep, Sam Remington was more than trouble. He spelled disaster as clearly as daylight, and there was no way Dean was getting involved.

But a small part of his mind was telling him that he already was. And more deeply than he realized.

He told it to shut up and disappeared into the chilly night, heading for his room and his waiting bed.

------------

Dean sauntered into the kitchen at six the next morning to find Bobby sitting at the table reading the morning paper and nursing a cup of coffee. There was no sign of Sam yet, and Dean was inwardly relieved.

He heading straight for the coffee pot and took his first sip before sighing.

"Our guest appeared yet?" He asked, leaning against the bench top

Bobby shook his head and folded the paper.

"That boy's more than exhausted, Dean. He's sleeping heavier than a bear 'n winter."

"He's been on the road for awhile so I'm not surprised."

Bobby nodded and regarded him for a long moment before he stood up and pulled his cap on.

"You need picking up this afternoon?"

"If you could. Send one of the boys if you're busy. I'll pick up dinner."

Bobby nodded.

"Well, you take it easy. I hear that Billy Walkers thirsting for some new hunting rifles. God knows how fussy he is bout his guns." Bobby grumbled at him.

Dean chuckled. "Sure do. Thanks for the warning. Ill make sure that Jack deals with him while I'm having lunch."

"Jack picking' you up?"

Dean nodded as he downed the last of his coffee and set the cup in the sink.

"Try not to pick up any more strays while you're gone," Bobby threw back over his shoulder as he left.

Dean grimaced. One was enough for him. And the one he had was already proving to be a bigger problem than he had anticipated. He wished wholeheartedly that Sam was repulsive; hunchbacked, with boils and misshapen limbs. At least then he wouldn't have to worry about keeping his distance and not jumping his bones whenever they were close.

Yep, he was going to get him some tonight. Just to get his libido in check, he told himself sternly.

However, as he shrugged on his favorite leather jacket, he couldn't resist looking in on Sam. He swore at himself all the way to the sunroom though, but when he saw the sprawled form on the bed, all coherent thoughts in his mind faded away.

Sam was sprawled on his stomach, with his face turned towards where Dean stood. He was blissfully asleep, and Dean's heart was thundering away loudly in his chest as he looked upon the serene picture that was present before him.

The long, smooth expanse of Sam's back was revealed to him, and he swallowed convulsively at the sight of all that golden skin exposed to the cool air. Sam's hair was disheveled with sleep, but then, Dean remembered that it was always messy. He wanted more than anything to touch. To bury his fingers in that hair just to feel how soft it was, and to run his hands over that skin to see if it was as satiny as it looked.

The rising sun kissed the enchanting features of the young man's face and created a perfect blend of shadow and light that would make any art fanatic's fingers itch for a brush. Those full lips and perfectly chiseled cheek bones, along with the fine brow was enough to make Dean want to run his hands over that face in wonder.

Dean was growing uncomfortably attracted to the inviting scene before him, so he scowled to himself and fought to control his primal instinct. He never had been good at resisting the more sensual pleasures of life.

He did stride over (as quietly as possible when one was striding) and tug the curtains closed so that the light wouldn't wake him. And he hesitated a moment before pulling the covers up over Sam. It was still cool, and he didn't need a cold on top of a concussion and a busted knee.

Now more irritated with himself than ever, Dean left.

-

The smell of rancid breath woke Sam from his sleep. Reluctantly, he wrinkled his nose and opened his eyes, only to come face to face with a pair of liquid eyes and a lolling tongue.

With a holler and a flash of fear, he scrambled up and away from the large dog that had its paws on the edge of his bed.

"Git down Remy," a rough voice commanded. The massive Labrador obeyed immediately with a wagging tail, and Sam commanded his heart to stop racing as he turned to face the owner of the voice.

He kept an eye on the brute that had so rudely woken him, and tried to quell the instinctive fear clenching his gut.

It was Bobby, the one who Dean had introduced as his guardian, Sam remembered. He was rummaging around in one of the battered cupboards that was on the opposite side of the room. The large beefy man was dressed his a faded checked shirt, and equally faded jeans. The outfit was completed by sturdy boots, and a truckers cap that was perched on his unruly hair.

Despite being stocky and rustic looking, Bobby seemed to be a decent guy.

Sam sat up a little consciously and glanced once more at the dog. Or dogs, he realized. There was a thin mutt who was considerably smaller than the first lying by the door quietly.

"Sorry bout that. Still trying to knock some sense in Remy's head." Bobby explained, gruffly.

"It's okay," Sam answered immediately, even though it wasn't.

He wasn't going to let him know that though. He needed a place to stay for awhile, if the pounding in his head was anything to go by. He grimaced and ran a hand through his hair.

"It's gettin' on in the day. Figured you might want to get up so you can get some sleep tonight."

"What time is it?"

"Nearing two."

"Oh." Sam replied, distractedly as he glanced at the dogs again.

"Make you nervous, do they?"

He looked at Bobby once more and found the older man watching his steadily.

"Uh...yeah, a bit. I uh..." he swallowed and scooted over to the opposite side of the bed from the dogs. "I had a bit of a bad experience once."

"That how you hurt your knee?"

Sam nodded as he reached for a shirt and pulled it over his head quickly.

"Thought as much. Not many animals leave scars like that on a person," Bobby nodded as he shut the cupboard firmly. He had a small box in his hands and he turned to face Sam, eyeing him as a man would if he were looking at a car he wanted to buy. Sam shifted uneasily. He should really be used to people studying him by now, but whenever anyone looked at him for longer than a few seconds he still got uneasy. He felt transparent, as if everyone could see past his skin and down on into the deepest and darkest secrets that he held within his heart.

"Well then. I 'spect you'll be wanting a shower. Dean show you 'round the place last night?" Bobby asked critically.

Sam shook his head wordlessly. Bobby snorted.

"Figures. That boy's head is shoved so far up his ass sometimes its a wonder he can see anything at all. C'mon then. Get the shit you need and I'll show you to the bathroom."


	3. If You Could Read My Mind

**Disclaimer**I own nothing to do with Supernatural! Sam and Dean belong to their creator.

**Warning**Swearing, Slash but not incest as Sam and Dean aren't related in this fic and mentions of past violence.

**Authors Note**: Once again, I'm sorry for the delay. Life has been hectic this last couple of weeks. I hope this update more than makes up for it!

* * *

**Chapter Three:** If You Could Read My Mind

The hot water felt wonderful against his stiff muscles, and Sam braced his hands against the wall as the water streamed down his back.

As usual, things had passed by in a blur that left him in the middle of a strange place without knowing how he'd gotten there. The last few years had been a blur in fact, and Sam wondered yet again where the time had slipped away to.

And now he was in a strange persons house, having followed one of the most beautiful men he had ever seen who he had only met yesterday. When he had seen that monster of a truck come roaring around the bend as it had, for just a split second he had thought that it was over.

He had been okay with that. He was tired of running from a past that wouldn't stop haunting him, and he even more tired of being alone.

But he couldn't stop traveling. When he traveled at least he felt like he was moving on for awhile. And this sleepy farming town in the middle of Kansas seemed like a peaceful place, a close knit community where everyone knew everyone. The kind of place that Sam had once called home, but now couldn't stay in for more than a few weeks without getting restless once more.

And that Dean Winchester...did he ever seem out of place in a town like this. He was larger than life, and the raw power that seemed to roll off of him had been almost overwhelming. Despite that though, he had been decidedly closed off. While it was difficult to read any emotion in that neutral expression he wore, there was a tenseness about him that spoke of something out of the ordinary.

Some would call him dangerous, but Sam wasn't frightened of him. No, he was insanely attracted to him, and he had no idea why. Usually, he avoided Dean Winchester-types as much as possible. But he and Dean had collided on that road, and it had been the start of something drastically different from anything he knew.

Dean had been short with him- not unfriendly, no. Just...impatient for some reason, but he had been nothing but gentle when he had helped Sam. And those large hands when they had touched his leg had ignited a fire that was unforgettable.

Sam shook his head, and rubbed his hands over his face.

It looked like he'd be stuck here for a few weeks at least, and maybe that would give him ample time to figure out what it was about Dean that made him so different. And why it was he'd be staying in a town like this one.

He shook himself and straightened as he turned off the shower. If he was going to get himself back on track then he needed to start getting a move on.

-

Sam stepped into the cool darkness of the bottle shop and waited a moment for his vision to adjust. The place smelled like alcohol, and while it bought back unpleasant memories, it wasn't as bad as it could have been. The shop itself was small, and crammed full of alcohol of all different types, but no one could deny the business like way it was organized.

A counter was situated immediately to the left of the entrance, but there was no one around. Bobby had mentioned that the girl who ran the place could use a little help for awhile, and had suggested that if he was looking for work then she would be the person to go to.

While he had his doubts about working in such a place, there was no other work available in the town that he could see. Everyone heard the stories about bottle shops that were held up at gun or knife point, and Sam had never been a fan of some of the people who frequented them on a regular basis, but that was another matter entirely. Necessity warred with preference, but it was always necessity that won.

The sound of clinking bottles caught his attention, and he looked up as a young woman entered the room struggling to carry a case of beer around her very obvious baby bump. Her mousy brown hair was tied up in a messy pony tail, and her hazel eyes were partially shielded by a pair of glasses. Sam hurried over to her.

"Here. Let me help you with that," he offered as he eased the case out of her arms.

The small woman looked up at him and smiled gratefully as she braced her lower back with both hands.

"Thanks. It's not easy these days with things being the way they are," she laughed ruefully. "I'm Lindsey."

"Sam," He smiled back at her, instantly liked her sunny disposition.

"I didn't hear you come in, I'm sorry. I keep telling myself it's time to get that bell fixed but I've never gotten around to it. Things have been hectic since Tommy left," she told him.

"I can imagine."

"I haven't seen you around these parts before. New in town?" She asked.

Sam looked around for a place to set his burden down. After he'd eased the case onto the stack on other cases behind him, he straightened.

"Yeah, I am. I got here yesterday afternoon."

"Ah. You're the boy Winchester crashed with," she nodded knowingly, then smiled at his confused look. "Word gets around this place quickly."

He shook his head. He had completely forgotten how fast gossip traveled around small towns, and he should have known because he came from a small town himself.

"No...I mean yeah, I figured."

"Sorry honey, I'm being rude. Is there anything you need help with?"

"Actually, I'm looking for work. I'm sticking around town for a couple of weeks and I'm a little tight on cash. Bobby mentioned that you needed some help and I thought maybe..." he trailed off when he saw her shake her head, hands on her hips.

"That man. Always thinking I'm fragile and unable to work," she frowned for a moment before she waved for him to follow.

He obliged, staying on the opposite side of the counter as she eased herself down onto a stool with a contented sigh.

"That's better," she said before she looked him up and down. "I'm not sure what I can offer you in the long term, but I could use some help until the baby comes. You look strong enough but I won't lie to you. It's hard work. Think you can handle that?"

"Yes ma'am. I'm not afraid of a little hard work" he replied instantly.

"What about that leg of yours? I noticed you have a limp. Not going to give you any problems is it?" She asked him, eying him critically. "As you can see, I'm not exactly able to carry you over to the clinic if something happens."

"It won't be a problem," Sam replied confidently. _Though it would hurt like a bitch at the end of a hard days work..._

"Good. Well, are you available this afternoon? I'll give you a trial, see how it works out. How does that sound?" She asked thoughtfully as she rubbed at her stomach.

"That's very generous of you. I appreciate it," Sam smiled at her. "What do you want me to start on?"

"How about shifting the rest of that beer?" She asked with a wicked grin. "I'll just sit over here and watch, shall I?"

He smiled as her as he turned.

"Sounds like a plan."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Dean was lounging behind the counter of his shop as he browsed through a magazine. It was a lazy afternoon, and warm sunlight was shining through the shop windows and the door. A fan blew cool air over Dean and ruffled the pages of his magazine. There wasn't any customers in the shop with him, and he was glad. It gave him a chance to relax for a while and gather his senses.

The radio was playing an old rock song in the back ground, and Dean inhaled the faint scent of gun powder and metal before exhaling contentedly.

His peaceful world was shattered by a loud crashing coming from the back room, followed closely by the sound of violent cursing. He sighed again, rolled his eyes and tossed his magazine onto the counter top in front of him.

"You causing trouble again Jack? Because I swear, if you've messed up those shelves that I spent _three__days _organizing, I'll shoot you myself," Dean called as he picked up his bottle of water.

"Oh shut your face, Winchester," Jack emerged from the back, covered in dust and carrying a battered and worn cardboard box that he dumped onto the counter beside Dean. "Your precious shelves are fine. I was looking for this."

Dean sat up a little and tried to peer into the box that Jack opened.

"And what is this, exactly?" he queried.

"_This_my friend, is your next lesson in making money," Jack announced proudly as he pulled out what looked to be a rusty and worn barrel of a rifle.

"By selling broken guns to the scrap yard?" Dean questioned.

"No, no no. These guns are classics, Dean. If I can fix them up and restore them, then we can sell them and start rolling in the big dollars."

"Thanks but no thanks. I'm not into antiques, old man." Dean waved a dismissive hand as he leaned backwards and rested against the cabinet behind him.

"You laugh now, but you'll be jealous when I'm making more money that you are," Jack told him.

"Yeah. Right." Dean laughed quietly, watching his old friend as he went about pulling out bits and pieces and looking at them intently.

Jack was about the same height as him, if not a little taller. His hair was light brown, streaked with natural blond, and his brown eyes were liquid pools of warmth. His skin was tanned from years spent outdoors, his limbs long and muscled. He was the funniest guy Dean knew, and the only person besides Bobby who truly knew him. Sure, he wore his hair in a ponytail, and he was often more trouble than he was worth, but Dean wouldn't trade him for the world.

Truth be told, Dean probably would have made a move on him if Jack had been gay or bi like he was.. He was easily one of the most attractive guys Dean had ever met, but besides the fact that Jack was straighter than an arrow, Dean had never been able to commit to any one person for long, man or woman. Relationships were something he didn't do, mainly because he wasn't any good at them. Plus he had never really met anyone that he wanted to spend large amounts of time with day in and day out. In a way he was glad. Relationships led to heartache, and he didn't need any more of that. Relationships were messy and always ended in tears.

His father and his mother had been a perfect example. Once she had died, his dad had gone off the rails for awhile, driven almost to the brink by grief and unable to acknowledge Dean's own pain. There was no way he was going to set himself up for that kind of thing.

No, he had his life, and he was content with it. He had his guns, he had a home and he lived in a town with people that he mostly got along with. And he was too old to start wondering if there was something more he could be doing. Twenty six was almost thirty, after all, and most people were settled down with what they had chosen by then.

"You know, if you think any harder your brain might just explode," Jack commented mildly.

"Huh?"

"Whatever's got you all twisted up inside must be pretty big. I haven't seen you this wound up since Casey left," Jack told him as he polished a barrel with a soft rag.

"Casey. Don't get me started on that asshole," Dean growled before he took another swallow from his bottle.

"You two made a good pair when you weren't at each other's throat," Jack said.

"We weren't a couple. We were just..."

"Friends with benefits? Fuck buddies? Yeah I know. But still, you two had...what's it called. Sparks? Chemistry?" Jack asked with a clicking of his fingers.

Dean rolled his eyes. "God, you are so old school."

"Besides the point, my friend."

"Casey was a stubborn jerk and a pain in the ass. I'm glad he's gone anyway."

"A good fuck too, from what you've said in the past. And you were friends before you were lovers. I know you miss him."

"Would you cut it out already? I wasn't thinking about him anyway. Just...other stuff."

"Right. Other stuff. That explains so much," Jack replied dryly before giving him a level look which made Dean distinctly uncomfortable. "You know, if you..."

He was interrupted by the door opening, and the tall form of Sam entering. Dean automatically tensed up as he approached with his hands shoved into his pockets and his eyes hidden by his hair.

"Hi Dean," he greeted them shyly.

"Sam," he replied steadily. "Jack this is Sam. Sam, my partner Jack.

"Oh. Hi," Sam awkwardly offered his hand, which Jack took with a warm smile.

"So you're Sam Remington, huh? Nice to finally meet you."

"You too. Sorry if I'm interrupting anything."

Dean so badly wanted to tell him that he actually was interrupting something, if only get him to go away so he wouldn't have to look at those pretty eyes, or that full mouth. Then he remembered that Jack had been fishing for information, and wasn't sure which was worse. Still, if he was going to be stuck in a constant state of half arousal when Sam was around, at least he was sitting down so it wasn't as obvious.

"Not at all," Jack replied enthusiastically, shooting Dean a look laden with the promise of much torture to come. In the form of questions, which was the worst type when it came to Jack. He resisted the urge to sigh and focused instead on Sam.

"What are you doing here Sam?" he asked, more sharply than he had intended. "I thought you were supposed to be resting today. Doctors orders and all."

"I am. I mean, I was. Bobby told me that there was a job going in the liquor store so I thought I'd check it out." Sam replied, all mumbley in a way that made Dean's insides squirm.

"Lindsey? You're working for Lindsey?" Jack perked up immediately, and this time Dean couldn't help his grin. Jack had had the biggest crush on Lindsey for the longest time, and Dean knew that Lindsey was sweet on him too. But Jack was either too stubborn or too foolish to make the first move, and seeing as Lindsey was pregnant and all, he guessed that she didn't want to get involved with another man with a baby on the way.

"Yeah. Well, she's got me on trial for a couple of days, but she really needs the help, so..."

Sam reminded him of an awkward teenager, all uncertain and shy, and it made his heart do funny things in his chest.

"I've been trying to tell her that for weeks," Jack told him, grinning and clapping Sam on the shoulder. "I'm glad you came along when you did, man. Though I'm sure Dean here isn't too grateful for the damage to his truck."

Dean didn't miss Sam's wince, but oddly enough he didn't really care about his truck. Not when Sam was standing there looking worn out and worse for wear. The padding covering his head wound was clean, but the bruising around it was visible as it spread from underneath the cover. Dark circles ringed his eyes and made them seem like they were sunken. And he didn't miss the way he wasn't putting any weight on his bad leg. Dean stood up and hit Jack on the shoulder.

"Can it, dude. I'm gonna grab some food and head on home. You right to lock up tonight?"

"Sure thing. I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

Dean nodded as he grabbed his wallet and keys and walked around the counter. Sam followed him, saying a shy goodbye to Jake as the closed the door behind him.

TBC

A/N: I have no idea what people in America called liquor stores. Sorry for the shortness of this chapter. Life has been hectic! But I hope to update next weekend! Have a good week folks, and take care!


	4. Swinging From the Tallest Heights

**Disclaimer**: Supernatural and it's characters don't belong to me.

**Warnings:**Swearing, angst, violence, Slash but not wincest.

**Author's Note:** I'm back with the whole writing thing! My block seems to have passed for now, so expect more regular updates.

* * *

**Chapter Four**: Swinging From the Tallest Heights

The next week passed in a blur for Dean, and he was still left scratching his head whenever Sam was involved. He hadn't counted on him staying around for any length of time, so he hadn't come up with a way to deal with the younger man. So instead of keeping him company and getting stuck in awkward silences, he avoided him all together. As much as was possible considering he drove Sam to and from the town every day.

Sam, for his part seemed to be keeping to himself and staying out of his way. But that didn't mean that Dean couldn't watch him. It seemed that Sam was perfectly fine with living in his own isolated world. He didn't strike Dean as the type who socialized a lot, or even got along with people. It was like part of him was always somewhere else, no matter what he was doing. Like he was divided between the present and the past.

Dean rubbed his forehead and rested his head against his hand. The road before him was dark, and his headlights picked out the reflectors along the edges of the road, lighting them up and guiding him back towards home. It had been a long and frustrating day, and all he wanted to do was have a drink at the pub and go home and sleep all weekend.

Although things hadn't been exactly relaxing at his house lately. Not with Sam around, those pretty eyes and those perfect lips following him around. And those large, gentle hands that seemed incapable of hurting anything, those legs that seemed to go for miles...

Dean shifted in his seat, adjusting his jeans as his body reacted to his pornographic thoughts.

"Dammit," he swore to himself, angrier than he could remember being.

He couldn't remember feeling so torn in years. Since his father had left him, actually. He had felt desire and need before, but this was way past what he was used to. He couldn't remember ever wanting to touch so badly before. Sam would be his undoing if he let it get any worse, and he didn't need that.

Besides, he wasn't a hundred percent sure if the kid swung his way, despite catching Sam watching him with an endearing flush in his cheeks.

Dean swerved into the parking lot of the local pub and killed the engine. For a moment he just sat still, willing his body under control and telling himself that he needed to get a grip before he did something he knew he would regret.

Dean slammed the truck door shut behind him and put his keys in his pocket as he entered the noisy pub. Once he was inside, he paused for a moment, drinking in the familiar scene. The smell of alcohol and hot food reminded him how hungry he was, the throbbing music a welcome distraction. He knew most of the people in this pub, and while he wasn't really one for socializing, for once he didn't mind the crowded space.

If only to take his mind off gray eyes and a body like that of a Greek god.

Dean headed towards the bar, relieved that he saw Jack there, along with a few of their other friends.

"Get me a beer will you, Ben?" he asked the bartender.

"Rough day, huh?" Jack asked in greeting as he clapped him on the shoulder.

"I'll say," Dean agreed wearily running a hand over his face and nodding his thanks to the bar keep. He drank deeply from his glass like a dying man.

"Rogers giving you trouble again?" Jack asked, leaning next to him on the bar.

"I'm lucky I got out of there without murdering the man. He wanted to pay less than half our normal price for that ammunition."

"No shit? That man's worse than pond scum. I'm still wondering why we agreed to do business with him."

"Because he's the best in the area. Having our names next to his will do wonders to bring in new customers." Dean grunted into his half empty glass. "Still, doesn't mean we have to like the man."

"Too right," Jack agreed. "Well, you're here now, and that's all that matters. "

"Thank god too."

"I know something that might distract you," Jack was grinning openly at him now and Dean frowned at him.

"I'm not in the mood for your childish pranks," Dean growled at him, though he wasn't really bothered. He needed all the distraction he could get. "It's been a long day."

"Amen to that man. But somehow I don't think you'll mind this one."

"What are you babbling about man?"

"Look over there," Jack pointed across the bar over to a shadowed, out of the way corner. Dean had to squint without his glasses, but he could make out the long, lanky figure of Sam without much trouble. He was sitting in the shadows, a half empty pint of beer before him. Even in such a crowded room, he seemed so isolated and separate from the noise. Dean felt his heart skip a beat in his chest at the thought of him over there by himself. Not only that, but his body was interested without a doubt. The sight of those long legs stretched out in a comfortable sprawl, that chiseled chin resting in the palm of one hand, and those dark gray eyes watching the crowd calmly had his blood rising, making him more uncomfortable than he had any right to be.

"You should go over there," Jack said in his ear.

The scowl returned to Dean's face and he turned his back to Sam, needing some space to sort out his conflicted feelings.

" And why would I do a stupid thing like that?" he returned, trying not to sound defensive.

"Because you like him. And he has no friends around here yet. He looks like he could use one."

Dean shot him a glare and refused to justify his friends foolish notions with an answer.

"I've seen the way you look at him. I'm not blind Dean. You want him."

"What do you want me to say Jack? I'm not interested. Besides, it's not like he'll be sticking around for long anyways."

"All the more reason for you to try. If he's not sticking around then he's not looking to get involved. It doesn't have to be so complicated all the time. Sex is sex Dean."

"Man, I don't need to hear this from you. I've had more one night stands in the past year than you have had in your entire life," Dean snorted, stirred into make some sort of response.

Jack just grinned at him, leaning on one elbow and holding his beer in his other hand.

"So what's so different about this one then? Something else you're not telling me? Could it be..."

"No!" Dean snapped straightening. He turned and started to walk away.

"Where are you going?" Jack called after him, his grin very evident in his voice.

"Where the fuck do you think I'm going, asshole?" Dean shot back over his shoulder. He tried to ignore the laughter that followed him.

So. He was going to go over there and just talk to him. If it led to anything else then that was fine. There was no reason why he had to be acting like some sort of teenage girl with her first crush. All he had to do was talk to him, carry out a conversation. He could do that. Never mind the churning in his gut, nor the nervousness he could feel thrumming throughout him.

No one had made him feel quite the same in years. And that in itself was intriguing. Maybe he could figure out just what it was about Sam that he found so fascinating.

Dean navigated through the crowd with little trouble, saying hi to the people who greeted him but not slowing down in the slightest.

Once he reached the table he stood there for a moment, looking down at Sam, who looked up at him after a moment. His eyes widened fractionally and he sat up a little, pulling in on himself unconsciously.

Dean had to hide his smile as he sat himself down opposite him.

"I didn't expect to see you here," he told Sam before taking a swallow of his beer to hide his nervousness.

Sam shifted again, turning a little to face Dean but not looking up at him.

"Just needed to clear my mind, that's all. I can leave if you want me to." Sam said before finally looking up at him. Dean had to swallow as he met those clear gray eyes, so open and honest that he was having trouble just thinking straight. Just being so close to Sam clouded his mind in a way that made him uneasy.

He frowned slowly as what Sam had just said sunk into his brain.

"What? Why would I want you to leave?"

"Because it just seems...You know what? Never mind," Sam smiled at him, but it looked all wrong, and forced in a way that a smile never should. Especially not on someone like Sam. But Sam was standing up, and looking down at him, not moving. Dean looked up at him, and noted idly that Sam was taller than anyone he had ever met. He loomed with the best of them, and that sent a shudder of pure heat throughout him.

Dean was jolted unpleasantly back to reality when Sam's lips quirked a little sadly and he turned and disappeared into the press of bodies.

He must have sat there stunned for a few minutes, trying to figure out what had happened. Had he done something to upset Sam? Done something to offend him that he wasn't aware of? He knew that he couldn't leave things like they were, and that he didn't want to. Sam was a good person. He deserved some honesty from him at the very least, and if they were going to be living in close quarters with each other for the foreseeable future, then they were going to have to make some sort of effort at communication. As usual, Dean had failed spectacularly at that. Communicating wasn't something he had any skills at. Talking about things just seemed to create more problems than it solved.

Suddenly the crowded pub was too noisy, and there were too many people. What had been a sanctuary for a short time had become too suffocating for him to stand any longer. He needed to get out. He needed to find Sam, because knowing him, he'd probably have started to walk back to Bobby's. There was no way he could make it, not with that leg of his.

With a muttered curse, Dean downed the remains of his pint and got to his feet. As he was heading to the door, he fished around in his pocket for his keys.

"Hey Dean!" Jack caught his elbow, pulling him to a halt. "What's going on? Where's Sam?"

"I don't know. I'm going to find him," Dean replied tersely. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He pulled away and made a bolt for the door, pausing once he was outside to inhale the cold night air deep into his lungs to try and clear his head. Away from the press of bodies and the pounding music, he found he could think again and started to calm down. He wondered why he got so worked up sometimes, and over something as little as there being a crowd.

But he needed to find Sam, rather than standing around twiddling his thumbs. Shaking his head, he ran down the three steps and strode purposefully over to his truck. There was no going back now, he told himself. He was going to get this sorted with Sam. And if he found that Sam was interested, then they would see how it went. If he wasn't interested, then that was that and at least they would be clear with each other.

Despite having made up his mind though, his stomach was jumping in anticipation. If Sam was interested, then he would finally get to know exactly how sweet those lips of his were, and just how it would feel to touch all that golden skin.

But he was getting ahead of himself. Dean shook his head again as he gunned the engine and reversed out of the parking lot. The truck fishtailed a little as he roared out of the parking lot. For a moment he reveled in the throbbing of the engine beneath him, and the cold night in rushing in the window. He was fairly thrumming with anticipation enough so that he almost missed the shadow of a figure walking along to side of the road with his hands in his pockets. Dean slowed right down before pulling over and stopping in front of Sam.

He watched for a moment as Sam stopped and looked at him, not trying to move around the truck. So maybe he was willing to listen then.

"Get in." Dean told him, congratulating himself for not sounding pissed off or tense for a change. There was something about Sam that disarmed him, dismantled his defenses and stripped him of his ability to try and think of a counter attack. Dean was pretty sure it was unintentional, but still, it was a little unsettling.

Sam looked for a moment as if he would refuse, but after hesitating for only a moment, he walked around the back of the truck and climbed into the passenger seat. Dean got them back on the road again and they drove in silence for a few minutes.

When they bi-passed the turn off for Bobby's place, Sam glanced at him quizzically.

"Where are we going?"

Dean shifted in his seat and carefully avoided looking over at him.

"Thought I'd take you to the river. Have you been there yet?"

Sam shook his head mutely.

"Well I figure it's one of the best places around and if you haven't seen it yet, then it's about time you did."

"Okay then." There was a pregnant pause. "I'm sorry for what I said earlier. I didn't mean it the way it sounded."

"How did you mean it then?" Dean asked, trying not to tense up too much. It wouldn't do for him to go getting all defensive before they'd actually sorted anything out. The only thing that would achieve was scaring Sam away.

"I just...Sometimes it seems as if I'm getting in your way. I just wanted you to know that if me being around is a problem, I'm more than willing to find another place to stay while I'm here. You've already helped more than what's fair, and I wouldn't hold it against you if you want me gone."

Dean was quiet as he thought about what Sam was saying. In a way he had known that he would be the reason for such an issue. It wasn't a surprise really and Sam wasn't the first person to get scared away by his prickly nature, or his unwillingness to trust another. Now the only obstacle was coming up with the right words to say to set the situation to rights without making it worse. Then maybe they could get down to what was really bothering him.

"It's not you. I'm just...I'm not good with people. You staying is not the problem." Dean told him, struggling with the words.

It seemed that neither his brain nor his mouth were cooperating with him and he cursed silently at his inability to express what was going on inside him. It was one of his greatest failings, it seemed, and one that would probably stick with him until the end of his days.

"Then what is?" Sam asked, his deep voice softer and smoother than anything had the right to be.

Dean was silent as they pulled off the main road and onto a well worn dirt path. Sam didn't seem to be in any particular hurry for an answer. If anything, Sam seemed too patient, and too understanding and that only served to make Dean feel as if he was too inferior to even be considering what he was considering doing with him.

Dean was forced to concentrate on the winding and rough road that led them deep into the towering trees. The moon was bright enough for him to see by, even without his lights, so the going was fairly easy, even with all the holes and dips in the road. Soon enough, the path emerged from the trees into a small, grassy clearing.

"Come on."

Dean hopped out of the truck and started walking, without waiting for Sam to follow but knowing that he would. He topped a small rise that looked down on a long stretch beach that wound itself alongside the river for several miles, he knew. The river itself was wide and fairly deep in the middle, but it was a popular place because the water was so clean and clear. The current of the water was slow and lazy making it the perfect place to relax on hot summer days that seemed to stretch on forever.

It looked especially enchanting at night, with the moon shining on the surface and the sound of the quietly flowing water. A cool breeze rippled through the trees, and Dean felt the serenity of the place reach deep into his soul and calm the raging of his nerves. Sam joined him and they stood together for a moment in silence, just drinking in their surrounds and gathering their thoughts.

"It's not you," Dean said eventually.

He felt Sam looking at him inquisitively. "Then what?"

"Me." Dean gathered up his courage and looked Sam square in the face, meeting his gaze and holding it.

"I'm not the kind of person who hides behind pretty lies and half truths," he said evenly, as his gut clenched and danced painfully. He clenched his hands into fists to hide the way they shook. "And I'm not going to lie to you. I want you. Having you around makes it hard for me to hold myself back from...doing what I want to do to you. So if you're not into that kind of thing then perhaps it's best if you leave. Because I can't guarantee that I'll always be able to control myself around you. And that's the truth."

There was no response from Sam. Dean glanced at him from the corner of his eyes and saw him staring out over the river. He turned around and faced the truck, looking down and fiddling with the keys in his hand.

"You want me to drive you to a motel or something?"

"No. I'd like to stay here for a little while if you don't mind," Sam replied quietly.

"I can wait in the car if you like," Dean told him, trying not to let his disappointment and bitterness show. It wasn't like it was the first time he'd been turned down, so it shouldn't have come as quite a big surprise. But with Sam it seemed to hit much closer to home, and made him feel angry and pissed off with himself.

"No. I'd like you to stay. If you want..." Sam said, almost shyly. Dean tried not to let his tone re-ignite the hope that he was trying to let go. So he nodded instead of saying anything, and watched as Sam shot his a quick smile before he walked down onto the beach and looked out over the river.

Dean sat down where he was, content to keep his distance and watch Sam as he tried to patch together his wounded pride. It wasn't something he was going to linger over for too long, he told himself. Better to move on and forget about it than dwell on it.

Though the look in Sam's eyes when he'd smiled at him hinted that all might not be lost. Perhaps he was playing hard to get or something? But on second thought, Sam wasn't the type to play games. He was just a little too jaded, and a little too separate from the normal world to be the type to play people. And watching him, Dean found he could forget about his own loneliness for awhile.

Sam was crouched at the rivers edge, trailing his fingers in the water for a few moments before he picked up a stone and studied it.

There was something innocent and child like about the way Sam was studying the river and picking over the pretty rocks. It fairly warmed Dean's heart, and made him want to protect the little part of Sam that was still able to be curious about the big wide world. Dean had lost that part of himself a long time ago, but it was refreshing to see it in someone like Sam, who was so much like him, yet so different in the same instant.

Pale moonlight was encasing the young man in front of him, dappled through the leaves of the trees about him, and Dean thought to himself that he had never seen such a beautiful sight in a long time.

Suddenly Sam was standing up and walking towards him, purpose in his very stride. Dean watched him warily, looking up as Sam stood over him and extended his hand.

"Come swimming with me."

TBC

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A/N: In case any of you were wondering, the truck that Dean drives in this story is the same truck that John drives in Supernatural. Apologies for the shortness of this chapter, but it's just the way the story is writing itself. As always, my stories seem to take on a life of their own. I have no control over them!!!

Thanks for reading!


	5. Heaven Leave The Lights On

**Disclaimer:**_Standard disclaimer applies- the concepts and characters of Supernatural belong to their rightful owners._

**Warnings:**_Slash but not Wincest, swearing and violence_

**Author's Note: **_I am so sorry for the long wait with this chapter! I honestly got stuck writing a particular scene in this chap, and I have other stories that are demanding my attention…And I got bogged down. But I think I'm back on track now. The next chapter is getting started on tomorrow, hopefully, as I really want to get some more work on this story done before Christmas. As usual, any and all mistakes are my own. Please feel free to leave suggestions, constructive criticism, or anything else that's on your mine. Feedback is always appreciated!_

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**Chapter Five: **Heaven Leave the Lights On

Dean stared up at Sam for a long moment, bewildered. Sam was smiling at him, his hand still offered to Dean.

"I...What?" he asked, knowing that he sounded like a complete idiot.

"Swim. You do know how to swim, don't you?"

"Of course I do," Dean huffed as he grabbed Sam's hand and got to his feet.

"Good," Sam murmured as he backed away a few steps and began to undress.

Dean watched, surprised and bewildered as Sam stripped off his jacket and reached for the hem of his shirt. He didn't miss the way Sam wouldn't meet his eyes, or the scarlet blush on his cheeks. His heart was tripping over itself in his chest, and he still didn't know if this was a good idea or not, but for once he wasn't listening to what his instincts were telling him. For once he was going to go with the flow and see where this was going. He'd made a promise to himself to see this through, and if he was reading the signals right, then Sam wasn't pushing him away. Nor had he said no yet, so Dean was going to make the most of the opportunity that Sam was presenting him with.

He had to swallow back his sudden urge to just grab Sam and throw him down as he slowly followed Sam's lead and shrugged out of his jacket.

His button up shirt and undershirt were stripped off as one, and he got to work on his jeans. He glanced up at Sam as he unlaced his boots, gulping as his eyes were met with the sight of Sam's bare chest. The skin was even more golden in the moonlight, smooth and toned, and Dean shivered as he felt the heat start to build.

They were going to take it slow, Dean told himself as Sam began to unbutton his own jeans. He quickly looked away, telling himself over and over that Sam hadn't made a move yet, nor given him any indication that he was interested, despite Dean's suspicions. There was no use getting all hot and bothered until he knew for sure. The only thing that would come of it would be him making a fool out of himself.

By the time Dean had shucked his jeans off and kicked them into a pile with the rest of their clothes, Sam was already on his way down to the river, dressed only in his boxer shorts and he watched, dry mouthed as he waded into the dark water. When he was waist deep he launched out, ducking under for a moment before he resurfaced, gleaming wet and shaking his long hair.

Dean was too far gone to even begin thinking about consequences. Fuck the consequences. Seeing Sam like that, wet and mostly naked had to be the hottest thing he had ever seen. And he wanted him some of that.

Patience, he chided himself as he walked down the water's edge. For another moment he was unable to tear his eyes away from the sight before him. He waded in, cursing quietly at the cold of the water and wondering why he was doing this again. Besides the fact that there was a mostly naked, irresistible man swimming a short distance away from him. He told himself that he was in way over his head. But it didn't seem to matter. Not when Sam was there, enticing and sweet, despite the fact that he was just oozing sex appeal.

"Why are we doing this again?" he grumbled quietly. "The water's fucking freezing."

Sam grinned at him.

"Why not? It's a nice night for it."

"Doesn't make the water any warmer," Dean replied, before steeling his nerves and diving under.

No sudden moves, he reminded himself before he surfaced. Calm and collected. That was him. He needed to keep his face. That was the most important thing.

He growled to himself in his mind as he dived under again. Hell, the most important thing was only a few feet away, floating half on his back as he stared up at the stars.

"Jack seems nice," Sam commented once he'd resurfaced. Dean stared at him, surprised by the unexpected turn of the conversation.

"Yeah. He's a great guy." Dean agreed after a moment as he moved smoothly through the water.

Despite the coolness of the water, it was soothing his tired muscles and chasing all traces of tiredness from his mind. So, he was going to let Sam take the lead it seemed. He'd just be waiting for the right signals.

"How long have you guys been partners?" Sam asked, still staring up at the sky as he swam around on his back, using small movements of his arms to keep moving. Dean circled him on his side for a moment before rolling onto his belly.

"Business partners? Couple of years. But we were friends long before that," Dean replied. He glanced at Sam for a second, noticing him frowning in confusion.

"I thought..."

"That we were lovers?" Dean guessed, wondering if that was what had been holding Sam back from answering before. "We're not. He's straighter than anyone I know."

"Oh. I didn't know. I'm sorry."

Dean shrugged. "No harm done. Matter of fact, the man's got the biggest crush on that boss of yours."

"Really?" Sam laughed. "I never would have guessed."

"I'm not surprised. He knows how to keep his mouth shut when he wants to. But when he doesn't, that man's the biggest gossip in town." Dean shook his head. "Sometimes, he makes me so mad I just want to punch him."

Sam laughed quietly and Dean watched Sam watching him. Sam was on his back again, his wet hair falling in his eyes again. Dean wanted to brush it away so he could see those beautiful eyes of his. He could spend an age getting himself lost within their depths.

"What makes you stay here, Dean?" Sam asked in a murmur. "It's a beautiful place, but it's just not the kind of place I can see someone like you living in for any amount of time."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, genuinely curious, despite his adversity to talking about himself.

"You're like me, you know? You don't seem like the type who can stay in one place for long. I can't imagine...Traveling is all I've got sometimes. It keeps me sane, knowing that there's still places out there that I haven't been yet."

Dean considered the question carefully, surprised with how at ease he was feeling, despite the situation.

"It's the only place that I've ever called home. When my father left, this is where I stayed. I guess I just haven't found a good enough reason to leave yet."

Sam seemed to consider this for a moment before he nodded, not meeting his eyes as he looked away, towards the distant shoreline.

"It was the same with me. I was waiting for a reason to leave my home. When it came I couldn't get out of there fast enough."

Dean nodded, and tried to stifle his curiosity about Sam's past and why he was so young and out on his own. Someone his age should have a home, and family and friends to rely on. Sam seemed smart enough that he should be in university, making something of his life and forging a career for himself. But instead he was a drifter, with no home, and no one to rely on but himself. It didn't sit right with Dean that someone like Sam, who seemed so normal didn't have anything in the world except the clothes on his back and the need to keep moving.

"Why did you leave?" he found himself asking, without meaning to. "Sorry. None of my business."

Sam shook his head and offered a weary smile, his eyes losing some of their brightness and sparkle.

"Mum walked out when I was thirteen. I stayed with my dad and uncle until I couldn't stand it any more. I left on my sixteenth birthday."

"Don't like your dad much, huh?"

Sam shook his head. "He spent most of his time off his face. I figured I'd be better off on my own and split."

Dean nodded and lay bay in the water once more, looking up at the star studded sky and wondering what he could say to that. A mother who had walked out, a father who spent most of his time drunk, uncaring about the effect on his son...seemed like Sam had had more than enough reason to leave. But that still didn't make it right. Some people were just born into the wrong family, Dean figured. It was just another reason why he never wanted children of his own.

No one could screw up a child's life better than a parent could. Dean had enough to deal with without having to worry about the way his actions affect the life of another.

So maybe he had more in common with Sam than he had first thought. But why, then, was it so difficult to reach out and connect with him? The fact remained that Sam was still a mystery to him, like a stray leaf blown in on a gust of wind, Sam had exploded into his world and turned things upside down.

Dean didn't know what to think anymore, or what to believe. If anything, he needed to get to the bottom of the mystery that was Sam so he could get on with his life without Sam's shadow looming over him.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sam glanced over at Dean and swallowed nervously. Why was this so hard? It wasn't like he was a virgin. Far from it in fact. He had known his fair share of sex, most of them casual flings, some of them not. But Dean, Dean was the only one who made his blood pound in his veins so hard that he felt dizzy most of the time. His head always felt muzzy, and he felt as if he had a perpetual blush on his cheeks. In fact, he felt as if he was running a constant fever and he knew what the solution to that was. It was just getting it that was the problem.

It had become blatantly clear to him that Dean would never make the first move. For one, while Dean seemed like a blunt and straight forward kind of guy, it was blindingly obvious that he always held back, never letting on more than he had to and never letting everything go. He wasn't the kind of person who could just kick back and let loose.

Sure, he probably knew how to have fun, probably got drunk more often then he should and did stupid things while he was at it, but he never seemed to let go of that tenseness, that anger that he carried so close to his heart. Sam could see him buzzing with it, throbbing with his every breath. It was the mark of a man who had nothing to live for, and no reason to keep on doing so besides the fact that he could.

Sam recognized it because it was the same thing that had kept his father going after his mother had left. And while it wasn't one of the reasons that Sam was attracted to Dean, it wasn't something he could let pass unnoticed because it made him too wary. His father had ignored him for the better part of his childhood and criticized him for the rest. It was a bitterness that sharpened the tongue and hardened the heart, and Sam wasn't going to let himself be subjected to cruel words or an uncaring attitude again.

But still, there was something about Dean that had caught his attention, and once he had been caught he knew he was trapped. Trapped within his own desires, and his desperate, aching and throbbing to feel Dean. To learn him and know him inside and out.

Sam laid back in the water, listened and felt the cool water lapping around his ears, his temples and wondered when he had felt so...at peace with himself. It had been such a long time since he had felt the faint stirrings of hope. He often wondered who he would have been if things hadn't gone so wrong when he was younger. It had been awhile since he had had the strength to admit that maybe there was still hope left for him. Hope that he could be something more than a homeless wanderer with nothing and no one to speak of. He had never had a craving to have a family of his own; he had been there and done that before and he had witnessed first hand just how badly things could go wrong.

But there was no denying the fact that he was lonely. That some times that loneliness was his only companion, and the only thing that kept him moving when he was weary and aching with tiredness and the need for a place to lay his head for another night. It was the knowledge that maybe there was something waiting for him at the end of such a long and winding road of alone and hurt and insecurity.

Sam sighed to himself as the swirling of the current around his limbs soothed away his fears and his doubts. All he could do was live in the moment. For someone like him, there was no future, and the past was too painful to remember.

Just live in the moment, he told himself. After all, the moment was all that he had, and he would hold everything he had in his hands until he could hold onto it no longer.

"Hey. You still with me?" Dean's rough voice broke into his thinking and he jerked slightly, flailing in the water in surprise. He managed to swallow a little bit of water, and he stood up in the water, coughing to clear his throat.

Dean had moved closer, frowning.

"You okay?" he asked as he stood in front of Sam.

Sam nodded and coughed a couple more times to clear his throat. The air was cool around him, making him shiver slightly, and he was surprised when Dean clasped a hand over his shoulder.

"Maybe you should sit down for a bit," Dean suggested, glancing at the shoreline before looking back at Sam and studying his face. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Sam nodded as yet another blush stained his cheeks. Not only did he feel foolish, but having Dean standing so close to him, with his hand on his bare shoulder was making him want to do things that would make a priest blush.

"I'm fine," he replied softly, trying to hide the effect Dean had on him.

As it was, he had no idea what Dean was thinking, but as he opened his mouth to reassure Dean further, he forgot what he was going to say as he looked into those clear hazel-green eyes. For a few long moments, they just stared at one another. Sam was drinking in the sight of Dean, noticing for the first time the faint freckles that decorated the bridge of his nose and his cheek bones, and the way his eyelashes seemed incredibly long and dark.

He could feel the gentle fanning of warm breath, could feel it against his cool skin. Before he could register what he was doing, he leaned forward and pressed his lips clumsily to Dean's. For a single moment, they were frozen in time, pressed lip to lip. Sam could feel the soft fullness of his lips, the warmth of his skin like a furnace against his own chilled flesh. Then, Dean was tugging him closer and kissing him hard.

Sam lost himself in the taste of him, in the way Dean's tongue was licking into his mouth. He could feel the hardness of Dean's muscles against him, the pain as a hand tangled in his hard and tightened, and he was moaning helplessly, his heartbeat pounding as he kissed back.

Fire was zinging through his veins and he was burning up, hotter and brighter than the sun. He couldn't get enough of Dean; he wrapped his arms around him and held on tightly, letting Dean control and dominate. His mouth was being mercilessly plundered by Dean and he didn't mind in the slightest. Dean kissed like he lived- intensely, passionately, driving for more and not relenting in the slightest.

They were pressed flush against one another, chest, belly and thighs. One of Dean's arms was wrapped around his back, the other hand still tangled in his hair.

Sam knew he was lost. The taste and smell and feel of Dean was as intoxicating as a drug and twice as deadly. He couldn't get enough. He needed more, would do whatever he needed to lose himself in the wonderful wet warmth of Dean's mouth.

He was a fantastic kisser, in control and so focused that Sam's knees went weak. He probably would have fallen had it not been for Dean's arms wrapped around him in a steel grip.

A few moments later though, he was left floundering and bewildered as Dean pulled away and moved back. His mind was blank, quieted by the flood of passion and pleasure but just as he was thinking of something to say, Dean wrapped a hand around his wrist in a vice like grip and began to pull him towards the shore. When they stood ankle deep in the shallows, Dean turned to face him and pulled him close again, his mouth going immediately to Sam's neck.

He let his head fall back and closed his eyes, shuddering as fire raced through his veins when he felt teeth dig in.

Before he knew it, he was on his back with water lapping gently at his overheated skin and with Dean lying half on top of him and looking down at him.

"If you don't want this to go any further, now would be a good time to say something."

Sam pulled Dean on top of him completely, so that he was settled tightly between his legs and his weight was pressing down on his half hard cock.

"Does that feel like I'm not interested?" he asked hoarsely.

Dean crushed his mouth to Sam's in response and rolled his hips in a way that suggested he more than knew what he was doing. He whimpered, needing more friction, just needing anything he could get and he rose up to met his next thrust. Their kiss was deep and hot and dirty and it was doing wicked things to his mind. He could no longer think, no longer breathe.

Dean tore his mouth away eventually and focused his attention on his neck and shoulders, biting, sucking and licking and keeping up the steady rhythm of his hips as he did so. Sam had gone into sensory overload and was only half aware of the needy, desperate sounds escaping him. The most he could do was grip at his hips and then the glorious expanse of his smooth back as he wrapped his legs around him and matched him movement for movement.

It was entirely too long before Dean's mouth was back on his, kissing him hungrily as if he were trying to devour his soul. The anticipation of the whole thing had driven him almost insane with desire so it wasn't too long before Sam was coming, arching his back and groaning in a way that would have horrified him had he been thinking rationally. Dean followed not long after, his body shuddering against him and his teeth digging hard into his shoulder.

Dean had collapsed on top of him, and within moments their breathing matched perfectly. As Sam came down from his incredible high, he became aware of Dean's bare skin pressed against him, of the warmth of it, and of his breath against his neck.

He wondered briefly how things would go between them after this, but then dismissed it from his mind, focusing instead on the way it felt to hold another person, to hold Dean. It had been so long since he'd had simple human contact of any kind, especially not with someone he cared for. And he did care for Dean, more than he probably should, but he couldn't help it. The man was an enigma that mystified him, and the sex they had just had hadn't satisfied his curiousity any. If anything, it only added fuel to the fire and he wanted so much more.

His mouth was liquid poison, his touch scorching through Sam like a wild fire, and a little voice in his mind was telling him that he was in too deep.

The more involved he got with Dean, the more tricky things became. He was falling more and more in love with the little town with each day that passed, and his feelings for Dean were growing too rapidly to make sense of, and he was confused as hell.

That being said, the sex had been phenomenal and he was going to keep it casual until Dean called it off. He wasn't going to start talking about feelings, because Dean was the kind of person who pulled back at the first hint of that sort of thing. No, he'd keep it casual. He could deal with the feelings (hopefully) later.

The shrill ringing of a phone had Sam jumping and Dean cursing. He was still pinned underneath him as Dean half slid off him as he reached for his phone. It stopped ringing by the time he found it though, and Dean cursed again.

"It was Bobby. He's probably wondering where we are." he said after a moment. "We'd better be heading back."

"Probably." Sam agreed

Dean helping him up and they left the cool water, not bothering to dry off before they dressed. Sam was uncomfortable in his come-sticky underwear, but there wasn't anything he could do about that. Despite everything, all the baggage that would undoubtedly go hand in hand with whatever this was, he was happier than he could remember being for years. His body was still thrumming with Dean's touch, and their surrounds were more beautiful now that they were imprinted in his memory.

Dean was already dressed and heading back towards the truck. He paused for a moment to let Sam catch up, and he flashed him a grateful smile as he shoved his hands into his pockets. Before they parted to go to their respective sides of the truck, Dean brushed the back of his hand with his fingers.

It was that simple contact that warmed Sam more than anything else had so far.

TBC


	6. Close Enough to Perfect

**Disclaimer:**_Supernatural and its characters and concepts belong to their rightful owners and no-one else._

**Warnings**:_Slash, swearing slight violence and Angst_

**Author's Notes: **_I honestly meant to have this chapter out before Christmas, so I apologize for my laziness. Hope you enjoyed the last chapter, and that this one proves to be worth the weight. First post for 2008! Yay!_

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**Chapter Six**: Close Enough to Perfect

Dean sighed as he slouched behind the counter of the store on yet another hot afternoon. Before him lay the account book, with his messy scrawl jumping back at him. Business was slow, but that never bothered Dean all that much. He loved the quiet, lazy afternoons where he could just take it easy. The radio was playing tinny music, and a warm breezed was flowing in from the open front door.

Jack was out doing deliveries, so he was taking advantage of the peace and trying to squeeze in some work on the accounts while he had the chance. He was never much good at math's or accounting, but he somehow managed to struggle through and keep them comfortably above the water.

But on this particular afternoon, he couldn't seem to concentrate. Last night, Sam had knocked his socks off. The strength of the attraction they both obviously felt was stronger than he had anticipated. And instead of satisfying his curiosity, it had only made him hungrier, and greedier for more.

He hadn't seen him before he'd left for work that morning, and that had disappointed him more than he had suspected it would. The warning bells were ringing clearly in his mind- he was getting way too attached to something that was only supposed to be a casual fling, but he knew that if the chance ever came up again, he wouldn't even give it a second thought.

Even as he thought about it, he could feel the desire built. Hot damn, Sam had a body that would put those Greek gods to shame. Toned, chiseled and hard, yet surprisingly warm and soft at the same time. And miles and miles of velvety soft, golden skin. And those silken, messy locks of chestnut hair...he'd smelled so good. A strange mix of sweet apples and clean sweat.

Dean shifted on his stool and frowned, trying to concentrate on the scrawled figured before him. His concentration lasted all of thirty seconds before his mind was elsewhere again.

There was the annual bonfire night coming up. All the people his age and younger attended, and it involved booze and everything that made up an entertaining and fun night. It was usually talked about for weeks after. Some years, Dean hadn't been in the mood to attend, others he had gone and regretted it later, both in the form of having raging hangovers, and waking up in a bed he hadn't ever wanted to be in.

Still, most of his circle of friends were going, and maybe he could ask Sam to go with him. Not as a date, or anything, but as a friend, although even thinking of it opened out a road of possibilities that had his mind working a mile a minute.

Sam needed to meet more people, and Dean found himself wanting to introduce him to his friends. That in itself should have warned Dean against it, but he disregarded the sentiment almost immediately. Sam was...hard not to like, if he was honest with himself. And his friends would fall in love with him and no doubt adopt him straight into their tight circle of friends.

Dean grimaced with distaste. That would invite all sorts of questions that he had no inclination to answer. But Sam and bonfires and all that opportunity was too good to pass off. Besides, Sam needed to get out some, and he needed a distraction, something to lift him out of his dark past.

Before he could even begin to start kicking his ass into gear and get some work done, Jack sauntered in the door, his arms full with a batter cardboard box.

"You know, they invented computers for a reason, Dean," he called out as he disappeared into the back room.

"I like my way better," he replied almost petulantly and half to himself as he started to chew on the end of his pen.

"Then explain to me why every time you drag out that ratty old book you start bitching and moaning about how you have better things to do?"

"Smart ass," Dean muttered to himself, stubbornly hunching over the booked and glaring at the words as Jack joined him once more.

"Give it up Dean," his friend sighed as he leaned a hip against the counter and crossed his arms. "We both know what you're really thinking about."

"Oh yeah? Mind reader now, are you?" Dean groused as he straightened on his stool and narrowed his eyes at him.

"Don't have to be a mind reader to know what you're thinking about. You got lucky last night," Jack beamed at him, looking extremely proud of himself. Why, Dean had no idea, but he rolled his eyes anyway as he tossed his thoroughly chewed pen onto the counter top.

"I don't see how that's any of your business."

"Aw, c'mon man. Tell me!"

Dean eyed him, and suppressed his urge to grin goofily at the man. It wouldn't do at all to go letting people know just how much of a high Sam had given him last night, especially considering how antsy he got when people started prying into his private life. And small towns were the worst kind of places when it came down to gossiping. He had learned that the hard way, and he'd rather shoot himself in the foot than willingly let himself become to center of gossip for the next month.

Still, Jack was his best friend. And he knew Dean better than he would have liked, so really there was no use hiding anything from the man because he'd be quite happy to pester and annoy until he got the results he wanted. Dean wasn't known for patience, and he knew better than to give Jack any opportunity to get on his case about anything.

"Fine. I did. Happy?" he groused as he closed the book and shoved it back in its home underneath the counter.

"And? What was he like? Was he a top ten?"

Dean raised his eyebrow, surprised and amused at his eagerness. There was something to be said about dangling the proverbial carrot in front of the donkey. It was satisfying if nothing else.

"Do you really want all the gritty details, Jackie? Do you really want to know how it felt to touch him? To kiss him and..."

Jack, realizing his mistake raised his hands and backed up a few steps.

"Okay, okay, I get the point." he grinned. "I'm just happy for you that all."

"Why? Because I had a quick fuck by the river last night?" Dean snorted. "It's not like it meant anything."

Dean was annoyed at how hard it was to force those words out, and just how much he knew that it was untrue. It had meant something. Just what it had meant to him, he didn't care to speculate on. That would only bring down a whole world of trouble on his shoulders, and he certainly didn't need to complications.

"Right, right, I know that. But still, there are plenty of people who would have killed to be in your position," Jack told him casually as he set about straightening a few wayward guns on their racks. Dean's interest was immediately piqued, despite himself and he straightened a little from where he leant.

"What do you mean?"

Jack glanced at him briefly before tugging experimentally on the locks that ensured the guns remained where they were supposed to until bought.

"Surely you've heard all the hype by now." Jack said, then paused thoughtfully. "Although knowing you, you probably haven't."

"Haven't what?" Dean asked impatiently, following Jack as he meandered through the store checking and straightening things.

He didn't missed the slight quirking of Jack's mouth as he tried to hide his amusement. Jack had never been the most subtle of men, and he was as readable as a book. It didn't take a genius to know that Jack was laughing at him, but that didn't make Dean any less determined to find out exactly what Jack was hinting at.

"Your boy's the talk of the town at the moment, and I know for a fact that there are more than a few people interested in him, if you get my meaning," Jack raised his eyebrows at him momentarily before turning to face him.

Dean tensed, not liking what his friend was implying. It had been so long since he'd experienced the feeling of jealousy and actually feeling it full force shocked him. Along with it came a healthy dose of possessiveness that had him reeling where he stood. Figuratively speaking of course.

"You mean like...i_nterested_ interested?"

Jack rolled his eyes. "Of course that's what I mean."

"Right."

The defensiveness that had taken hold of him was unpleasant to say the least. Sam wasn't his to protect, nor to get possessive over. Sam was his own person with a mind of his own. He wasn't a possession to be fought over by the people of the town and the very thought of people vying for his attention like a pair of dogs fighting over a prize bone made him sick to his stomach.

Besides, after awhile, all the uproar over his presence would die down, and what would happen to Sam then? Discarded, and ignored. And it made him angry, more angry than he would care to admit.

No one could possibly understand just how that felt better than Dean did. And he wouldn't see it happen to another person, much less Sam. As a friend, Dean would do all he could to make sure than didn't happen.

"So I was thinking about taking him to the bonfire tomorrow night," Dean told him slowly. "But now I'm not sure it's a good idea."

"Like...a date?"

Dean frowned at his friend. "Not exactly. More like a friend. Get him introduced to people. But I'm not sure now. They'd probably start fighting over him from the moment he set foot on the sand."

Jack shrugged and leaned back against one of the shelves. "If you ask me, it's better to let them get used to him rather than shelter him from all the attention. Like a band aid. The quicker it is, the less painful if you get my drift."

"I suppose you're right," Dean conceded as he returned the counter. "But you think it's a good idea then?"

"You don't need me to approve Dean," Jack replied as he followed him.

"I know that. I wasn't asking."

"Besides, Sam's a grown man. It his decision to decide if he wants to go or not."

"I know that too," Dean growled, though he wasn't really impatient or annoyed. Jack knew him well enough not to take offence by his tone. Good thing too, or Dean would have run him off years ago.

"So when are you going to ask him on this date of yours then?" Jack asked, grinning broadly.

"I dunno. Right about the time you ask Lindsey to marry you..."

"Hey, there's no need to get nasty now." Jack laughed, holding his hands up in surrender.

"Who's getting nasty? Although the sooner you get it through your thick skull that it isn't a date, the better your health will be."

"Okay, okay, no more questions." Jack waved a hand. "Although..."

"Jack..." Dean said warningly.

"Just hear me out, okay?" Jack was serious now, all traces of jesting disappeared from his open face. "I hope you know what you're getting yourself into, Dean. I don't want to see you get hurt."

Dean studied his friend for a long moment thoughtfully.

"I won't, Jack. You don't need to worry about me."

"Doesn't matter. I'm going to anyway." Jack grinned again and reached across to clap him on the shoulder. "I'm taking off for the night. You alright to lock the place up for the night?"

"Go ahead. I'm sure I can manage for a few hours."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Uh...hi."

Dean's head shot up and he found himself staring at Sam. He was standing in the doorway, dressed in worn jeans with rips in the knees and a plain black shirt. Dean knew from the second he saw him that all he wanted was to throw him down and tear those clothes right off of him, but he managed to smile instead and beckon for him to come closer.

"Close the door behind you."

Sam nodded and closed the store door behind him, and Dean watched out of the corner of his eye as his long, lanky form moved towards him. He had never noticed just how smoothly Sam seemed to move, like he was completely at ease with himself, like he knew just how and where his huge body would fit and where it wouldn't. Seeing him amongst shelves and shelves of guns, his life long obsession turned him on more than it should have.

It was nearing closing time for Dean, and he knew that Sam had finished work not long ago. He was probably needing a lift back to the house, Dean told himself, and not looking for sex, no matter how mind blowingly awesome it had been.

He straightened from where he was leaning against the counter and shuffled his papers into order once more.

"Busy day?" he asked without thinking.

"Yea pretty busy," Sam replied quietly as he studied some of the rifles on a stand near him. "We had a lot of deliveries come in."

That was another thing about Sam; he always talked quietly, always measured his words before he said them out loud. Probably came from years of having to watch himself and keep out of sticky situations, he thought. Someone in his position, with no one to fall back on and look after him if he got hurt needed to watch their own back, and keep themselves out of trouble. Dean would have bet that Sam had learned that particular lesson hard and quick.

"Lots of heavy lifting then," Dean surmised, and then immediately kicked himself. The thought of Sam doing any kind of sweaty manual labor had him all hot under the collar, imagining those rock solid muscles moving smoothly under all that satiny skin. He swallowed sharply, glad that he was busy locking the cash register up for the night as he desperately cast about for something to take his mind off of the thought of sex with Sam.

"Is that good for you knee?"

Not as bad as it could have been, he supposed.

"It gets a little sore after awhile, but Lindsey's good and lets me sit down every now and then to rest it," Sam replied, finally looking up at him and smiling.

It was like a punch in the gut, that small smile with both his dimples making and appearance, and the soft looking in his warm eyes was Dean's undoing. He straightened and before he could think about what he was doing in any great depth, he was moving towards Sam, who was watching him with dark eyes.

"Know anything about guns?" Dean asked roughly, picking up a rifle and running his hands over it as he stopped in front of Sam. How was it that he always forgot just how tall Sam was every time they were apart?

Sam shifted a little. "I know a little. My grandpa..." he paused for a long minute and Dean looked up and watched him swallow. "My grandpa had guns. He used to go hunting. Taught me a few bits and pieces."

"You know how to shoot?" Dean asked, running his fingers over the cool metal of the gun once more, stroking over the barrel and down the grip.

Sam shook his head wordlessly. "I don't...Guns make me uncomfortable."

"They shouldn't." Dean told him as he opened the chamber and swiftly closed it again, cocking the hammer and easing it back down. "It's just a machine. All you have to do is control it. And respect it's power. There's no need to fear it."

"It's not really the gun I'm scared of. It's the people who use them," Sam murmured.

Dean sensed, not for the first time, that there was more to the story of why, but he didn't pry. It wasn't his policy to pry, no matter how much he may want to. And he figured that if what he already knew about Sam's past was anything to go by, then the background to this particular conversation wouldn't be pleasant.

"That's true enough. But the gun itself is just a tool."

Dean replied as he set the rifle aside and looked up at the man before him.

"I'll teach you how to use them. So you're not afraid any more."

Sam smiled slightly, but there was a sad quality to his eyes that made Dean wish he hadn't opened his mouth.

"I'd like that."

But Dean knew he wouldn't. He'd probably hate everything about it, the loud, sharp sound of gunfire, the smell, the sight of the bullet hitting the target. There wasn't anything pretty about it, nothing pretty about the destruction a gun could bring. But there was a tranquility in going about the motions, adjusting aim and accounting for wind direction. Cleaning, loading and reloading. It was the routine that Dean liked, the process and the feeling off accomplishment he got when all the targets were hit, when a gun performed as it should.

If anything, Sam probably needed to be rid of that fear. It was the uncertainty, the inability to control that got to people when it came to guns. But Dean could show him, could help him conquer that fear. Sam seemed like the kind of person who would appreciate being relieved of the burden of fear.

If there was anything Dean could do for him, it would be that.

He focused on Sam again, on the curve of his perfect lips, on the clean cut lines of his face, and the soulful, gray eyes that gazed back at him. His hair was in his face again, Dean noticed, and his hands automatically started to itch, wanting to bury themselves in the glorious softness.

With a mind of their own, his hands slid up and around the back of his neck, his fingers burying in the hair there and tugging him down.

There was nothing desperate or rough about the kiss. Just a slow, hard meeting of lips and tongues that sent a hot curl of heat throughout his body. Sam's scent was all around him, enticing and warm, and Dean's head was a whirl of confusion but it didn't matter.

Nothing seemed to matter when he was kissing Sam. All that mattered was that sharp, sweet taste of him, the heat of his body and that wonderful, edible mouth on his.

Dean pulled Sam in, pulled him closer and kept one hand buried in that glossy hair as the other traveled down his back so he could wrap his arm around his waist.

Sam had melted against him, giving in, giving up without a fight, and Dean thought that maybe it was that that had him so greedy for more. It was that sweetness that had caught him. You couldn't find a sweetness like that just anywhere, especially in one who's lot in life had left quite a bit to be desired. That was part of the mystery about the strange boy who had blundered into his life.

The only thing he knew was that he hadn't had enough yet. A small voice in him wondered if he would ever have enough, but that was just a little too disturbing for him.

He pulled back slightly, ending the kiss but not pulling away completely.

"So it's bonfire night tomorrow," Dean whispered against his lips. "Wanna come with?"

"Okay," Sam breathed.

Dean had a feeling that if he'd asked Sam to run naked through main street he would have. The fact that he had such control over Sam, such power was both humbling and scary. In the wrong hands, that sort of trust could be so easily abused. But Dean wasn't about to go and do something so stupid. He couldn't imagine being the type of person who would. He himself, had been betrayed and wounded too many times to ignore the injuries that could be inflicted through misplaced trust.

Dean kiss him firmly once more before he pulled away, and loved the way Sam's lips chased his for a moment, hungering for more. He couldn't stop the smile that broke out, loving the way Sam seemed to be as addicted to him as Dean was to Sam.

"I've got to pick up dinner. Why don't you wait in the truck while I lock up?"

Sam nodded slowly, as if in a daze and Dean watched as he turned around and walked out the door.

So. He had a sort of not date for tomorrow night.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - -

The next morning dawning bright and clear, bringing with it the promise of beautiful weather. Dean yawned as he shuffled into the kitchen at six thirty. He had learned early on that mornings in Bobby Singer's house started early, and that there was really no point in being moody about it. It was probably a good thing, because Dean had a tendency to be really lazy when he wasn't in a routine of sorts.

He had also learned that Sam was big on sleep. He could probably sleep most of the day away if given the chance, but he had caved easily when Bobby had started waking him early. In fact, he hadn't had any problems with getting up so early, which came as a surprise to Dean, but he didn't spend long questioning Sam's strange compliance to odd requests.

The smell of fresh coffee had him perking up considerably. And Bobby, the gem that he was, had made bacon and eggs for breakfast. Sam was buttering some toast, and offered him a warm, shy smile unhindered by shadows or sadness. Dean found himself smiling back without question as he took a seat at the table.

Bobby and Sam joined him moments later and they all dug into the food with gusto.

"Two of the hands are down with the flu," Bobby spoke up after a few silent minutes of eating. "If you can get a few hours off this afternoon, I could really use the help, Dean. I need someone to ride fence in the west pastures."

"Not a problem," Dean replied after swallowing his last mouthful. He took a sip of strong coffee and sat back a bit. "I'll leave work at twelve. I'm sure Jack can handle things for one afternoon by himself."

Bobby snorted. Dean hid his smirk behind the rim of his coffee cup. He and Jack had been notorious trouble makers back in their teens. Jack had, on numerous occasions, gotten on the wrong side of Bobby, resulting in rather humorous exchanges that Dean had witnessed, most of which involving his best friend cowering before his guardian. Bobby's bark was considerably worse than his bite, and Dean knew from experience that while Bobby didn't hold grudges for long, he was still wary of his friend and his mischievous streak, despite the easy friendship between the two.

"I uh...if you need more help, Lindsey gave me the afternoon off. She's hired another hand to help out, so she figured I could use the time to look around town, but I'd be happy to help."

Dean was surprised by the offer, but he really shouldn't have been. After all, Sam was the kind of person who gave so easily and without thought. Working on a ranch was hard physical labor, and while Dean didn't doubt Sam's strength, he did doubt Sam's bad knee. He kept his mouth shut though, because Sam was his own person, and if he wanted to help out, then Dean wasn't going to hold him back.

Bobby considered Sam for a long moment, then nodded.

"That'd be most helpful of you. You can ride out with Dean. He can show you the ropes and you can see some of the sights around."

Dean had mixed feelings about this, but once again he kept his mouth shut. Maybe he could take Sam out and show him how to shoot. Knowing Bobby's tendency to be obsessive about the maintenance of the fences, there was probably nothing to be fixed or seen to. Leaving him plenty of time to talk to Sam- plenty of time for awkward silences filled with Dean trying to think of things to say. But maybe it wouldn't be so bad, he reasoned. Maybe he was being overly pessimistic, as usual, and Sam would have no problem at all. The only question remaining was an important one.

"Can you ride a horse?" Dean asked rather suddenly, if the surprised look on his companions faces meant anything.

"Uh...I've ridden before. It's been awhile though..." Sam replied after a brief pause. "I won't slow you down, if that's what you're worried about."

Dean did his best to hide his guilty expression. After all, he was a solitary kind of person, not used to doing things in company. He worked better alone anyway, but it seemed like he had no choice this time. Keeping his expression neutral, he picked up another piece of toast.

"Then we won't have a problem."

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A/N: Thanks for reading, and I apologize again for the delay. Hopefully another update will be posted in a few days. So until then, don't be afraid to let me know what you think, kay? 


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